


between the shadow and the soul

by ninecrimes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark Rey (Star Wars), Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Frottage, Jedi Ben Solo, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Ben Solo, Possessive Kylo Ren, Smuggler Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22613842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninecrimes/pseuds/ninecrimes
Summary: “You and Skywalker have been keeping it a secret,” she said, her eyes searching his face to catch him when he lies. “But I know the truth. I learned it, the day after we fought on Mustafar. That Lord Vader was his father, and your grandfather.”He struggled against her stasis but she pushed back harder, her power swirling around them both. “Rey—”“Don’t you see, Ben?” There was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “The darkness is inside of you, too. You don’t have to keep fighting it. You were meant to be mine.”Mine....or:Jedi Knight Ben Solo should really stop doing smuggling runs with his father. Kira Ren should really stop trying to turn him to the dark side.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 46
Kudos: 266
Collections: For one is both and both are one in love: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	between the shadow and the soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClockworkCrow (icemink)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemink/gifts).



> Hello my lovelies! This is my first Reylo fanfic. Please be gentle with me. A couple of short notes:
> 
> .
> 
>  _Mildly dubious consent_ in this is very mild, like squint mild. Rey is 100% into this. Ben is a little encouraged by the dark side.
> 
>  _Father-son relationship_ ended up being more significant than I expected. The Solo boys being smugglers together really got away from me. Sorry if this doesn't interest you!
> 
>  _Kyr'yc kar_ is a phrase I made up using individual words from a Mandoa dictionary. It is not a real Star Wars term as far as I know.
> 
>  _For the prompt_ Ben Solo remained a Jedi and Rey is Master of the Knights of Ren, when Ben Solo is captured she tries to seduce him to the Dark Side.
> 
> .
> 
> Comments and love are appreciated but not required! Come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://kylo-renakin.tumblr.com)!

.

.

.

The twin moons of Cholganna were already beginning to loom over the vaulting ceiling of the forest treetops when Ben Solo came crashing through the underbrush, blaster drawn and blood dripping down the side of his face.

The smuggler spun around to scan the tree line from which he had emerged, searching for his pursuer as he pressed his free palm against his ribs and struggled to catch his breath. Silence was beginning to stretch across the jungle as the darkness rolled in. A bark rat scurried in the underbrush somewhere beneath his knees, scrabbling over his boot with dull claws as it hurried to safety. There was no movement in the forest—but Ben’s human eyes relied so much on the fading light that he knew better than to believe that the predator had lost his scent and given up the chase.

The sound of a cracking branch to his left split the silence like a blade. Ben took aim at the lumbering shadow, his reflexes a work of art—honed by so many years of practicing at Luke’s temple. But as the shadow took form, his shoulders sagged in relief and he holstered the blaster before creeping towards the two figures crouched beside an enormous, overturned log. Chewie was so large he had to duck his head so that it didn’t tower over the felled tree like a target.

“You okay, kid?” Han whispered, gesturing loosely at Ben’s bleeding temple.

Ben swiped at his head with the back of his arm, the white sleeve of his shirt stained red. He cursed under his breath. “Got swiped by a broken branch while I was leading it away. S’not as bad as it looks.”

“Better not be,” his father agreed, “your mother and Luke would kill me.”

The corner of Ben’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Thought we weren’t telling them about our father-son bonding trips anymore.”

“The rathtar incident was _not_ my fault—”

Chewie interrupted Han’s excuses with a gentle warble. Ben peered up at the Wookie and nodded. “It’s still on my tail, I’m sure. Especially with the blood, the kriffing thing could probably smell me from a dozen klicks. Sure would have been nice if the beast had stayed in its cage like _someone_ promised—”

“Varlo said it was gonna be out cold for at least three hours, it should have been plenty of time to get it loaded onto the ship,” said Han.

A stick bug crawled across Han’s shoulder, and Ben reached across to pick it off and release it back into the brush. “Did you see the size of that thing? Your friend clearly underestimated how effective the sedative would be. Who even needs a nexu that big anyway?”

“Great question, kid, I’ll be sure to ask that next time I’m paid good credits for smuggling dangerous carnivores with no questions asked—”

“—no, by all means, I love almost getting eaten by rancors and krykna and acklays—” a grunt from Chewbacca joined Ben’s protests, “—oh, yeah, and the zillo beast too, thanks for that one, by the way—”

_“Shhhhh!”_ Han’s hands gestured for silence with an exaggerated movement that shook his shoulders and rustled the moss against the log they’d taken shelter against. The last rays of sunlight caught in the older man’s hair and then winked away, surrendering to the night.

The three males fell silent, their soft breathing uncomfortably loud in the still jungle.

Something thudded against the log from the other side. Ben and Han caught each other’s eyes, a wordless conversation between them, and drew their blasters. Chewie’s massive hands tightened around his bowcaster. Ben ran his left hand through his hair, pushing the loose strands away from his eyes, his dark locks tangled with sweat and blood. A soft rumble echoed down the length of the long. The clicking of gigantic claws on loose bark crept closer. It was close now, so close—the taste of Ben’s blood thick in the air. He could hear the beast’s tongue roll out of its wide, gaping mouth with a hiss.

Ben took a single, deep breath, and turned to peer upwards at the crest of the fallen tree.

The nexu was female, and she was enormous. Far too large for any sedation to have really worked properly on the feline. She was almost twice as tall as the average of her kind, so much so that the crown of her skull would be equal with his own on even ground. Her lithe body was twice as long, her wicked sharp split tail the length of her body again. Each paw was adorned with three sharp claws as large as his blaster, digging into the tree trunk above his head. Her powerful forearms and shoulders were covered with deceptively soft fur in shades of cream and brown, marred with dirt and blood and scars. Needle-sharp spikes adorned her spine, each one the length of his forearm and half as thick. But it’s the nexu’s head that was the most dangerous—a wide skull that seemed to be almost entirely teeth, a bloody grin so broad it looked almost like a grotesque smile, and two sets of glaring red eyes perched just above the center of that maw. Nexu’s second set of eyes could see infrared—and he noticed the exact moment that she finally locked onto his heat signature.

_“Move!”_ Ben shouted, shoving himself away from the felled tree just as the nexu swiped one massive paw at the space where his head has been.

Three trio lurched into the jungle as the nexu bounded off of the tree and clambered through the forest alongside them. She had clearly chosen Ben as her prey, her beady eyes fixed on him greedily as they weaved through the low hanging branches, narrowly dodging her every leap. Ben could hear her whining roar so close it was as if her hot breath was on his neck.

From several paces ahead, Han spun and shot at the beast just as she was about to fall upon Ben. She roared, twisting away into the darkness. Ben caught up to his father and the pair slammed against a broad tree, shoulder to shoulder. Chewie took shelter behind a mighty oak, his bowcaster loaded and aimed into the dark forest where the nexu had disappeared.

“Dad,” Ben huffed. “We can’t catch this thing.”

“I know,” said the smuggler. The toll of the exertion was already beading sweat on his brow, his eyes shuttering. “I’m getting too old for this.”

“I think I can kill it.”

Han peered at his son, his eyes lingering on the still weeping gash on his brow. “Okay, kiddo.”

Ben rolled his eyes, passing his blaster into Han’s waiting hands. “You know I’m thirty next cycle,” he said, reaching behind himself to unlatch the hilt of his lightsaber from beneath his shirt. “One of these days you’ve gotta stop calling me _kiddo_.”

“Not a chance, kiddo.”

The blade hummed to life beneath his fingertips, casting a soft blue glow on the underbrush. A familiar sense of wholeness unfurled in his chest, as if he had been missing a limb that was finally restored to him. Ben stepped away from the safety of the enormous tree, letting the Force guide him as he spun the blade loosely in his wrist. The nexu was close, drunk on the scent of his blood and the thrill of the chase. “Don’t shoot at me,” he warned his father, throwing a similar look of warning at Chewie.

She approached from the east, having circled ahead to attack his vulnerable spine. Ben took a single steadying breath as he felt the hungry energy of the beast unfurling behind him. Han’s eyes tightened with alarm as he saw the shadow of the feline looming over his son, crawling down the gnarled trunk of an ancient yew tree. Her grinning maw opened wide—wider—

The nexu lunged, and Ben twisted away at the last moment as her great body crashed to the forest floor where he had been standing. He swung his lightsaber as he moved, the arc of the blade ripping through the beast’s side. She screamed in pain, a high pitched whine that sent a chill through his bones. Her split tail lashed out, slicing through his soft leather vest and lashing the skin beneath. The force of the blow left him stumbling backwards, collapsing into the bushes, fumbling the lightsaber as he fell. She saw this moment of weakness and leapt forward, her mighty body landing on top of him with a roar—

“Ben!” Han shouted.

The nexu fell still, curled over the spot where Ben had fallen. Han fired two shots from his blaster into her side, but the beast did not stir. He rushed over to the creature’s body, and noticed the thrumming light of Ben’s blade glimmering between her teeth. The hilt was pressed against her jaw, the entirety of the blade speared through her enormous head. Her fierce red eyes were glassy with fresh death.

“A little help,” Ben grunted, pinned beneath the beast’s corpse. He thumbed the switch to kill the blade, and the nexu’s head slumped further down onto Ben’s chest. Chewie was already holstering his bowcaster and sliding his great arms under Ben’s shoulders to pull him clear from the creature.

Everything was sore. The gashes on his shoulder were not deep, but the open wounds were bleeding profusely and every bone in his body felt like it was still pinned beneath the extraordinary weight of the nexu.

Ben clicked his lightsaber back onto his belt and pressed a hand against the bleeding wounds on his shoulder to stem the flow somewhat. He watched wearily as Han inspected the dead beast and wondered aloud whether it would be worth anything, whether they could get the Falcon close enough to load up the massive corpse. But before he could navigate the logistics of getting the Falcon into this dense jungle, a low roar echoed in the distance.

_“Kriff.”_

.

.

.

They had no choice but to keep running. From the sounds of it, it seemed like there were at least three more nexu—hopefully none as big as the first—hunting them anew. The trio pounded through the dark jungle, Ben struggling to keep up as he felt the exertion from his wound and the battle creeping down his spine. He pressed his fingers harder against his shoulder, hot blood weeping between them.

When the jungle gave way to a clearing overlooking a steep decline into another valley jungle, they stopped to catch their breath. Cholganna’s moons were now high into the sky, soaring above even the highest of the towering rock spires that littered the valley. The largest of the moons cast a bluish-white glow across the valley floor beneath them, and at the base of the closest spire—barely two klicks away—Ben could see an enormous frigate, overgrown with fauna as though the forest had claimed it as its own. Storm clouds cracked in the distance above it.

Ben nudged his father and pointed to the wreckage. “We could make shelter—til daylight.”

Han’s eyes widened as he took in the frigate. “Ben, I think you just found the _Sa Nalaor_.”

A chorus of snarls sounded from behind them, and the three began to stumble down the decline to the valley floor. As Chewie helped them over another fallen tree, Ben peppered his father with questions as a means of distracting himself from the increasing pain radiating through his shoulder. “I thought the _Sa Nalaor_ was a rumor.”

Han pushed an overhanging branch out of the way as Ben stumbled past him. “Treasure hunters have been searching for it since the end of the Clone Wars. S’posed to have disappeared around this sector but no one ever found it.”

The gashes on Ben’s shoulder throbbed. “I wonder why,” he replied drily.

A sharp flash of light filled the sky for an instant, followed by a heavy boom. The storm clouds crept closer, and the rain began to fall. Ben’s shirt, already wet with blood, stuck to his skin as the rain washed away the worst of it. While it would carry away the scent that the nexus was so drawn to, it also left him shivering from the cold and blood loss, and he knew that he would grow faint quickly. He hardly noticed when Chewie fell into step beside him, the Wookie slowing his pace so that he could support Ben should he collapse beneath the strain.

When they finally stumbled into a clearing beneath the giant wing of the frigate, the rain had become a deluge, a think curtain of water pouring off the side of the ship’s hull. Han lead the way, poking around the belly of the cruiser for some entry point inside. “Definitely _Sa Nalaor,_ ” he muttered under his breath. “It’s _Munificent_ -class, at least fifty years old.”

“Can you save your excitement until we’re dry?”

The service hatch was too high for Ben to reach, let alone Han, so they each took turns letting Chewie boost them up towards the open hatch. Han went first, to better help Ben on his way through. He’d finally had to release the death grip he’d had on his shoulder, and the lack of pressure against his wound left the pain searing through him. The skin around the wound stretched as he pulled himself up the side of the ship, clasping his father’s outstretched hand and pulling himself inside the hollow of the ship.

They collapsed into an empty docking bay, breathing hard and fighting back laughter at yet another near-death experience.

“This,” said Ben breathlessly, “is exactly why Luke doesn’t like me tagging along with you on jobs.”

Han grinned. “Shouldn’t you be calling him Master Luke, kiddo?”

“Kriff off.”

Chewie’s laugh was like a living thing, a shaking garble of sound that echoed through the empty hull. He mumbled something about looking for a med kit for Ben and stumbled to his feet. Ben closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cool metal of the ship, and listened as the Wookie lumbered around the docking bay.

Han’s voice was quiet when next he spoke, quiet enough that Ben thought Chewie might not be able to hear. “Maybe they’re right, Ben.”

He sighed, peering at his father from the corner of his eyes. “You wouldn’t know what to do without me. You’ve gotten used to using my talents to cheat.”

Han shrugged. “Maybe Chewie and I should retire.”

“Maybe you can, if the stories about _Sa Nalaor_ are to be believed. Or, you know, mom is loaded.”

That earned a booming laugh from his father. “Your mother is more dangerous than a whole pack of nexus, kid.”

When Chewie finally returned with a med kit, Ben waved off his help applying the bacta and told him to join Han scouting the ship for its rumored treasure. As their voices echoed further away into the hallways of the cruiser, Ben stripped off his wet vest and shirt. Applying the bacta patches at this angle was—difficult—but he managed it with some cursing and no small amount of pain. Using some spare strips of cloth from the kit, he created a tight binding around his shoulder, the pressure against the wound alleviating some of the throbbing pain once more. He even found a ration bar, and though the meagre food was among some of the worst things he’d eaten, he could gradually feel his energy returning.

The rain pounded against the hollow of the ship. Han and Chewie’s voices were far gone, leaving Ben in an eerie silence. As his senses began to strengthen, a gnawing tension built in his gut.

There was something here.

At first, he couldn’t place the feeling. But as he sat in the silent belly of the Separatist ship, the cold and clawing realization dawned on him that there was a slithering evil lurking in this place.

Nothing alive, as far as he could tell—no monsters to fight, here. But this was something worse. This was the echo of an evil so ancient that it had laid patiently for fifty years. For this. For him. He’d spent long enough in his childhood struggling with the pull of the dark side that he recognized its poison the moment it began to seep into his bones.

_Breathe,_ he reminded himself, calling upon the years of training that Luke had instilled in him to fight this. _Just breathe._

The call of the dark side was so potent in their family. He knew the truth his mother has fought to hide for so long—the truth of her parentage, and the blood that ran in their veins. Sometimes, when he was a boy at Luke’s temple, he would lie awake at night and could hear the voices of the darkness reaching out for him like curling claws and talons. It was deeper, here. Steady, like a heartbeat. Not something Chewie or Han would likely notice, though they might feel a discomfort they couldn’t place or understand. Ben had no intention of telling them what evil lurked around them, not with the threat of the deadly jungle beyond these metal walls.

He pulled his bloodied white shirt back over his head, leaving the torn vest aside. The shallow gash on his head had stopped bleeding, and his hair was already beginning to dry. He struggled to his feet, still feeling faintly lightheaded, and let the dark heartbeat call him forward, deeper into the heart of the ship.

.

.

.

The Sith Holocron was buried beneath boxes of munitions, as if forgotten. It hummed a pretty red, and Ben could feel it’s dark heart thrumming through his veins as he turned it over in his hands. The memory of some shadow seemed to writhe around him— _you were meant for this, it’s for you, it’s meant for you._

The corner of his mouth curled in disgust, and he crushed the artifact between his fingers. His eyes were wild, his heartbeat in his throat, his dark hair a tangled mess across his forehead. His fingers twitched with the ache to wield the blade, to cut and burn and _kill_.

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists to ward away the dark, letting that energy pour out of him and back into the ship.

And then he felt them.

Four. Four bodies. Human, most likely. Sneaking through the belly of the ship towards him. Their energy signature was a familiar thread of darkness. Ben quickly grabbed the commlink at his belt and thumbed the on switch.

“Chewie, is dad with you?” He whispered. The four figures were inching closer, maybe two bays down.

The Wookie’s response was barely legible over the roar of the rain on the ship’s hull.

“Find him, and get out of here right now—no, don’t worry about me, I’ll meet you back at the Falcon—I meant it, Chewie, get him _out of here_ —”

He let the commlink clatter at his feet as they entered the storage bay at last. His lightsaber was already in hand once he steps out from behind the stack of munitions boxes that hid him from the entryway to the hangar.

Three Knights of Ren stood abreast of one another. He was familiar enough now with their ilk that he could identify them from their weapons alone. Vicrul, with his scythe, was on the left—and Ben swore he could feel the man’s glare beneath the heavy grid of his mask. Kuruk, with his sniper rifle, stood in the center, just a fraction behind the other two. And on the right, wielding his menacing Mandalorian executioner’s ax—Ap’lek. The fourth, their master, who he’d sensed with them, was nowhere to be seen.

“Long time no see,” Ben said in lieu of greeting.

The silence stretched between them for a moment, tense and building to something inevitable. Ben’s finger twitched over the hilt of his unlit blade.

It was Ap’lek who struck first, moving so fast that Ben’s still ruined shoulder shrieked in protest when he swung his saber to meet the beskar steel. The faint glow of moonlight through the viewport windows and the humming light of Ben’s saber were the only things illuminating the grotesque mask of the knight. His helmet was always the most horrific of their order, looking like something akin to death personified—long, narrow, skeletal.

Ben used all of his strength to push back against Ap’lek’s blow, and then Vicrul was at the knight’s side, swinging that curved scythe so fast that Ben barely managed to duck out of the way. His strength was flagging already, still slow and dull from pain and blood loss. He parried the two knights again and again, their weapons clashing louder than the din of the rain thundering on the metal of the ship, but for every blow he blocked they pressed him further into the depths of the storage bay, hemming him in.

When Vicrul pressed too hard with his attack, which left his weight unbalanced when Ben dodged his blow, Ben swung his leg up to kick the knight squarely in the chest, knocking him to the ground. His saber caught in the curve of Ap’lek’s ax and he barely reached out in time to halt the blaster bolt Kuruk had launched at his open shoulder.

Pulling a trick from his father’s repertoire, he swung his free fist against the side of Ap’lek’s face, the metal of his mask bruising his knuckles. The blow wasn’t strong, but it was enough of a surprise that Ben was able to press their weight forward and land on top of the knight, pinning his ax beneath his weight. He released his hold on the blaster bolt, letting it careen into the ship’s hull above his head. Ben’s lightsaber tumbled from his grasp, and he wrapped both hands around the knight’s neck, pressing all of his weight down. The darkness saw the cracks in his armor and dove in, filling him, making him feel powerful and dangerous and deadly. The anger burned bright and hot in his veins, bloodlust chanting in his brain— _kill, kill, kill._

The cold metal of a blade settled beneath his chin.

Ben froze, his hands uncurling from Ap’lek’s neck. The man beneath him gasped and sputtered, the sound oddly like static through the mask. Kuruk’s blade was sharp, the skin at Ben’s neck already starting to bleed from the shallow cut. “Get up,” the knight ordered.

Ben raised his hands above his head, stumbling to his feet. He barely had time to register the harsh grid of Vicrul’s mask before the knight slammed a fist into his stomach and all the air left his body in one fell swoop. “Jedi filth,” said Vicrul, reaching up to release the catch of his mask so that Ben could stare at his face. There was something deeper than hatred in the young knight’s mismatched blue and green eyes—something like jealousy.

Ben spat at him, blood splattering on his face. Kuruk tightened his hold on Ben’s shoulder, pressing the blade closer to his jaw.

Vicrul swiped away the blood and spit from his cheeks, and dropped his mask on top of one of the nearby munitions crates. “Where is the holocron?”

“You got the wrong guy,” Ben huffed in response.

Vicrul snarled. “We know you have it. We can smell it all over you.”

“I’m surprised you can smell anything through that mask.”

Vicrul stepped closer, his face inches from Ben’s own. _“Jidai,”_ he hissed, and the darkness around them seemed to croon in response.

“Vicrul.”

The knight stiffened at the voice of their leader, soft and low from behind him. Something in Ben’s chest thundered, unbidden, at the voice—unmarred by any voice modulator or garish mask. Vicrul lobbed one last glare at Ben before stepping aside, leaving the Jedi with an open view of the Master of the Knights of Ren.

Kira Ren was—beautiful. He knew this already, but every time he saw her, it seemed just as impossible as the last. Every time they were apart he’d convinced himself that she couldn’t be as beautiful as she was in his memories, but—there she was. Bathed in the flickering moonlight of the viewport, the heavy rain making the soft white light dance across her face. Her soft brown hair was gathered back in a loose bun, strands loose around her forehead and jaw. There was—yes, a hint of green in the amber of her eyes, like he’d noticed last. Her cheekbones were high, dusted with so many freckles and _kriff, sweetheart, no one as dangerous as you should look so innocent._ The line of her jaw—imperious. Her mouth…

“Leave us,” she ordered, in that same soft voice that held such an undercurrent of deadly and unforgiving power. “Search the ship.”

The knights dispersed without argument, their heavy footfalls echoing through different hallways as they split up their search.

Ben stared at her for a long moment, both searching for the first words. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her saberstaff, and he remembers the heat of her double blade crossed against his own, spitting fire from that unstable crystal. She wore a lighter garb than her knights—dark wraps covering from her dainty wrists to her strong biceps that left just a sliver of delicious skin bare beneath her shoulders, tight-fitted pants and a tunic that covered her elegant neck, and flowing folds of fabric that crossed over her chest and fluttered around her thighs, cinched with a belt that made her waist look so—so _small_ , as though he could fit his hands around it in entirety. He wanted to. From the moment he first saw her, he wanted to.

“Rey,” he breathed, her name a benediction on his lips.

She _struck._

Not with the blade—his own is already forgotten in the mess behind him from his fight with her knights. She lashed out with the Force, one palm outstretched towards him, his muscles locking beneath the power of her stasis hold.

They’ve played this game before. Normally, he’d be able to fight the hold she has over him. Normally they are so matched in their power, it becomes something of a game between them, each struggling for the upper hand and totally unable to reach it. Normally, he’s not half delirious from blood loss, still bruised and bloody from the nexu and the fight with her knights. This time, she has control, and he cedes to her.

He noticed the moment the realization of his helplessness reached her, and she reflexively lessened the hold somewhat, allowing him to sink to his knees amongst the wreckage around him. She summoned his lightsaber from behind him into her waiting palm, and clipped both it and her own to the belt around her waist. He watched her with wary eyes as she finally strode forward, his head level with her ribs.

“Tell me where it is,” she said, her voice softer than the summer rain on Naboo.

“I missed you,” he breathed.

Something cracked in her gaze, and she responded by crouching at the knees, bring her gaze level with his own. Her stasis was still loosely holding him in place, but there was an ache in his fingers he recognized as his eyes trailed the curve of her jaw.

“Did Skywalker send you here to find it?” Her voice hardened around Luke’s name.

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

Kira reached out to run her slender fingers through his hair. Ben’s eyes shuttered closed at the feather-light touch. “So there’s no one coming for you, then?”

She is—everything. If he’d known, the day Luke sent him on that first mission they’d crossed paths, if he’d had _any idea_ a creature like this existed in this galaxy, he’d have searched the stars to find her. He has always been—unusual. Even to Luke, who knew what it meant to have the power of Darth Vader thrumming in your blood, even to him Ben has always been more. He was so lonely. So lonely in this power, this consuming maw of hunger, the call of the darkness haunting him at every turn. And she—she was everything he was. She had met him at every turn, just as powerful, just as unusual, struggling so beautifully as she was torn between the light and the dark.

_Mine_.

“I came alone,” Ben said.

If she spotted the lie, she didn’t mention it. “Did it call to you, too?” She breathed.

Ben thought of the way that the thrumming heartbeat of the holocron had seeped into his soul, beckoning him into the belly of the ship. “Yes,” he said.

Her hand was still in his hair. She dropped to her knees before him and shuffled closer, using both hands now to tuck the dark locks behind his too-large ears. Her thumb brushed over the curve of his cheekbone. Her eyes were electric in the soft moonlight. “I know what you are,” she said. She spoke with a barely a whisper, but the sound of it echoed all around them. The darkness pressed in. _Yes, yes, more._

Her fingers curled around the back of his neck. Her thighs pressed against his own. They were so close now, so close that the smell of her was all around him and he had to tilt his head down to look at her because she was so _small._ “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, his jaw clenched so tight it had begun to ache.

“You and Skywalker have been keeping it a secret,” she said, her eyes searching his face to catch him when he lies. “But I know the truth. I learned it, the day after we fought on Mustafar. That Lord Vader was his father, and your grandfather.”

He struggled against her stasis but she pushed back harder, her power swirling around them both. “Rey—”

“Don’t you see, Ben?” There was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “The darkness is inside of you, too. You don’t have to keep fighting it. You were meant to be mine.”

_Mine._

Ben stifled a groan as Kira pulled him downwards to press her forehead against his, her hot breath fanning over his mouth. “Sweetheart—”

The fingers on her right hand tightened in his hair as her left hand swept downwards, curling around his shoulder. The gashes from the nexu’s tail throbbed painfully and he hissed through his teeth, jerking away from her hold even through the stasis. Kira’s face contorted with anger as she honed in on the injury, pushing the neckline of his shirt down so she could see the edges of the blood-soaked bacta patch. “Who did this to you?” She snarled, a possessive tilt to her voice and _oh,_ he liked that.

“Nexu. Big one.”

She was tugging at the hem of his shirt before he even had the chance to respond, releasing her stasis hold so she could try to wrest the shirt off of him. “Let me fix it,” she demanded.

He caught her wrists in his hand as her fingers scraped against his abdomen. “No,” he said.

She bared her teeth at him, so quick to anger, so beautiful with the darkness roiling through her. “No one cuts you but _me_ ,” she hissed.

“No,” he repeated as she struggled against him. This—this was something they both liked, though neither had ever admitted it out loud. In the Force, they were truly equals, their power clashing against one another as an unstoppable force and an immovable object. But stripped to the strength of their bodies, she was helpless beneath him—strong, for a human woman her size and age, but Ben Solo was tall and broad shouldered and laced with hard muscle and Kira was so _small_ compared to him. It wasn’t long until her frustration won out and she pushed back with the Force, immobilizing him once more and pushing him back against one of the storage crates so she could crawl into his lap.

“I wondered,” she breathed as she finally settled atop him, her thighs bracketing his waist, “why Vicrul and Ap’lek were able to overpower you so quickly. They were fighting an injured opponent.”

Ben’s head thudded against the wooden crate behind him. “They needed all the help they could get.”  
  


Kira snarled again, curling her fingers into his hair and yanking backwards to bare his throat to her. Her tongue ran across the shallow cut from Kuruk’s blade, and the darkness _sang_ as the copper of his blood spread across her lips. “Touch me,” she ordered.

Ben tried to tap into that well of power, searching for an anchor in the light that would let him wield the Force to regain control—but it was so far out of reach. “I can’t,” he said. “Let go.”

“Use the dark.”

“I can’t do that.”

Her teeth closed gently around his jugular. “You can,” she whispered against that thundering heartbeat, “you just don’t want to.”

“I want you,” said Ben.

“You can have me,” she gasped against his jaw. Her chest was pressed against his, her arms twisted around his neck, her hands tight in his hair. Her mouth was so close to his but she wouldn’t—they never—she wanted something from him before she would give him the kiss that he burned so long for. “You can have all of me. My other soul—my dark prince _._ Give into it. Give into _me. Ner kyr’yc kar._ ”

The darkness was _everywhere_. He was caught in the maelstrom, in the very eye of it, and she—she _was_ the storm, buffeting him with that dark that was so generous, so patient, so _delicious._ She was right. It called to him. It had always called to him, since he was a frightened boy coming into powers too great for him to control. But he fought to retain the light. Everything that was good in Ben Solo’s world—he fought for it all. Every memory. The Jedi children who gazed at him with stars in their eyes whenever he returned from a mission. The warmth of his uncle’s hand on his shoulder, the pride in his eyes when Ben first beat him in a sparring match. His mother halfheartedly joking that she wished he’d become a politician like her to bring light and justice to the Republic. His father—Han—every hairbrained scheme and smuggling run gone awry and every time he grinned whenever Ben used his Jedi mind trick that _he was absolutely under no circumstances to use for personal gain, Benjamin_ to get them out of a sticky situation. Chewie picking him up even when he grew too old for it. Lando’s blaster that he still kept on him at all times _because you never know, kid._ And Rey— _Rey._ The beautiful, cruel darkness that was his mirror and his light. The girl who was somehow both too young for him to corrupt and too corrupted for fate to let him love in peace—

“Peace is a _lie_ ,” she hissed, and he realized he’d spoken his last words out loud. “There is only passion _._ ”

_There is no passion, there is serenity._ Luke’s words echoed in the space between them, and Ben couldn’t tell if it was the swirling eddies of the corrupting dark or the beautiful young woman in his arms, but he could feel the anger and hostility that rose in him in response. There _is_ passion. Passion was all he felt. Passion was burning beneath his skin and dancing in her eyes.

Her fingers were beneath his shirt again, cold against the flat of his stomach. “Please,” she whispered. “ _Please_ , Ben. I need you to touch me.”

_You were made for this,_ the darkness sighed. _She was always meant to be yours._

They both felt it—the moment he gave up the fight and let the darkness come crashing in. It curled inside him so easy, so flawlessly, as though his body always knew this was what he was made for. His hands flew to her hips, long fingers digging harshly into her hipbones to pull her even closer. Her hands flew back to his shoulders for purchase and she keened, high and needy, arching against him like some sinful hymn. The darkness purred deep within his chest.

Her lips parted on a gasp as she rocked her hips, lost to her own selfish pursuit of pleasure. She was so— _so beautiful._ So _his_. He wanted to take her apart. He wanted to claim her, to own her, to worship her and lose himself in her. There was no part of his soul that did not ache for her and her alone.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she dug her fingers into his shoulders. The pain heightened the pleasure and suddenly there was too much space between them—too much. His right hand dove into her hair, cradling the base of her skull and the elegant arc of her neck, and he crushed his mouth to hers.

Kissing Rey—kissing her was what drowning felt like.

Kriff, he’d _dreamt_ of this, waking with sweat on his sheets, hard and aching and more frustrated than he’d been since he was _sixteen years old._

Kissing Rey was nothing like his dreams.

This was—this was _more._ This was the taste of fresh jogan fruit, and the heat of her breath, and the sweet, wet strength of her tongue submitting to his own, and the sharp sting of her teeth drawing blood from his lower lip, and the way it felt to _devour_ , to _be_ devoured, as if they were so close they were one person but both of them just wanted to be even _closer_ so she widened her mouth and welcomed him in as she thrust her soft body against him and wound her arms around his neck and her fingers into his hair—

He couldn’t _breathe_. He didn’t _want_ to breathe, he just wanted _more._

The dark was a living thing. It soared inside Ben as he grappled her to the ground, letting his heavy weight fall over her tiny frame. The hangar was shaking. Crates and weapons and metal parts and anything not bolted to the floor rose around them. Kira was still gasping beneath him, a breathless echo of _yes, please, more, Ben, mine—_

Her hair had come loose from his abuse—splayed about her flushed face like a halo. He relented on his punishing kisses, her lips red and full and wet, and set his teeth into the curve of her neck where the taste of her was the strongest, where he could press his tongue against the thumping of her virile heartbeat. He settled his body between her thighs, her legs curling around his hips. His hands were—they were curled around her wrists, pinning them to the cold metal beneath them. She struggled sweetly against his restraint, but was so lost to the haze of lust that she used only her mortal strength.

“Please, Ben,” she whined. “Let me touch you.”

Her words sparked like lightning across his skin and he reluctantly released her wrists, his hands sliding down her lithe body to rest once more on the swell of her hips. He was a greedy, cruel beast, letting all of his weight press down on her as he ground his hips between her thighs. She was so small, so warm, so _perfect—_

Those deft, greedy fingers of hers were at his shirt again. She was tugging it up, desperate to reveal the broad expanse of his skin. It took more control than he cared to admit to release her long enough to pull the offending garment over his head and then he was rewarded with her crescent-moon fingernails digging into his back. Her hips were pushing back against him, searching for pressure, for friction, and he knew—he _knew_ —that she would be so tight, so hot inside—

Was he the first, he wondered? Would he be the first man to be inside her? Oh, but the darkness _sang_ at that, at the possession, at the claim of that. _Only me,_ he thought visciously, _only mine._ _So sweet, so soft, so tight, so mine—_

The dusting of freckles on her face were nearly hidden by the flush that he was sure descended to her breasts. She looked so—so wrecked, so debauched, so completely, sinfully _his_.

Like a bucket of ice water thrown over his head, he came back to himself all at once, scrambling away from her. The crates and parts crashed around them, boxes splintering open as the energy thrumming through the hangar dissipated in a flash. Kira lurched upright, eyes glassy and chest heaving. Ben was acutely aware of his shirtlessness as she fixed her glare upon him. His shoulder throbbed painfully from the exertion. She looked like she wanted to murder him—though it wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Rey, sweetheart—”

She rose to her feet, a scream building in her throat. He stumbled to his own, one hand pressed against his side as a new pain surfaced—if that bastard Vicrul cracked a rib, Ben was going to be pissed—and stared back at her across the space between them.

“Why are you still fighting this?” Kira’s voice was breathless, laced with such anger that the darkness trembled to behold her.

“This is not who I am—” He started.

“— _this is exactly who you are!”_ She screamed. “I _know_ that you feel it too, this thing that exists between us, the call of the darkness in your veins. I know that you know what it feels like to be like me, to burn with it so much you feel like it will _consume_ you.”

“This is not who I want to be,” said Ben.

Kira stared at him. The hurt in her eyes cracked through his chest. “I thought you wanted me,” she spat.

“I _do_ ,” he finally shouted back. “I do want you, Rey—can’t you see? I want you so much I can barely think of anything else. I want everything you can give me. I want to possess you. I want to own you. I want to ruin you and debase you and use you. And all of that, all of it—that’s the darkest part of me. It’s selfish, and cruel, and hungry. And you are _twenty_. You are too young for me, and the thought of it just makes me want you more and more. That is not—that is not the man I want to be.”

“What about what I want?” She said, stepping closer, every line of her body predatory and feline. Her eyes kept darting to the breadth of his shoulders, the flat expanse of his stomach and hips. “What if I want to be consumed?”

“The dark makes you feel—”

“I wield the darkness. It does not make me anything more than what I am.”

She took another step forward, and Ben matched it with one backward. He swallowed around the ache in his throat. “I can’t be what you need me to be,” he whispered.

“I want you to be what you _are_ ,” she said. “Prince of darkness. Night eternal. You have no idea. No idea what you are truly capable of. You are the most powerful creature in this galaxy and you are _hiding from it._ ”

_You,_ Ben thought, _you are my equal. With you, I never feel alone._

“I destroyed it,” he said. “The holocron. I destroyed it. You came here for nothing.” They both heard the double meaning in his words, the final and absolute denial of her implicit offer to stand by her side.

Kira’s face contorted with rage, her upper lip curling to reveal those too-straight teeth. In a flash, her saberstaff was in her hand and the crackling light of the unstable kyber crystal at its heart was spitting on the walls around them. He could feel the anger swirling around her, the bloodlust climbing in her throat, the chant of _kill, kill, kill,_ echoed in her eyes. But he did not fear her. She could no more hurt him than he could her.

The anger faded from her shoulders as quickly as it came. She wordlessly held out his saber, and watched as his long fingers curled around it. “This thing between us,” she said as she released it from her grasp, “it goes beyond the light or dark.” She peered up at him, the space between them still cracking with energy. He still ached to hold her. “We are inevitable.”

Ben’s hand curled around her jaw, his thumb sweeping across her lower lip. “I know,” he said, and because the darkness was yet to dissipate from his veins, he leaned down to capture her sweet mouth in one more hungry kiss. “ _Kyr’yc kar,_ sweetheart.”

“I won’t go easy on you next time, Ben,” she said. “Even if you are injured.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he agreed.

She stole one last moment to trace the shape of his mouth with her eyes, and then she was gone.

The hollow ache in his chest—the one she had filled so sweetly—returned with a vengeance. His eyes fixated on the ground where they had lain, where he had so greedily taken what she had offered, and he wondered if he made the right decision.

_Mine. My last star._

.

.

.

“So,” said Han Solo with a grin from the co-pilot’s chair on the Falcon as Ben began their pre-flight checks. “Chewie says you kicked us out into the rain with the nexus so you could have a steamy, ship-shaking catch up with your Sith-Girlfriend.”

Ben glared at his father and said nothing.

The smuggler just laughed. “I always knew you were my kid.”

.

.

.

_**fin.** _


End file.
